


Lords of the Dance

by jadey36



Series: Steps [3]
Category: Robin Hood (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadey36/pseuds/jadey36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Robin and Guy score the perfect ten?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lords of the Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Final part of the 'Steps' series.

**Lords of the Dance**

“You did what?” Robin exclaims, quickly pulling up the rope he used to climb into Guy’s bedchamber lest the guards should see it and raise the alarm.

“It was an accident,” Guy replies, eyeing Robin’s bow and wishing he had his trusty sword to hand. 

“An accident!  How can you _accidentally_ ask someone to marry you?”

“It all happened so quickly.”  Guy takes an involuntary step backwards.  “One moment there was a necklace, and then there wasn’t, and then there was again.  I got confused.”

“Confused enough to give her a ring?” 

Guy can see that his chances of having another ‘dance lesson’ with Robin Hood tonight are slipping away faster than Sheriff Vaisey can shout, ‘guards!’.

“Yes.  Sorry.”

Dejectedly, Guy lets go his half-undone leathers, his earlier desire rapidly fading in the face of Robin’s displeasure. 

“Maybe,” Robin says, “you could un-ask her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Guy retorts.  “How can you un-ask someone to marry you?”

“I know.” Robin smiles, a glimmer of a plan forming.  “You arrange a little gathering at Locksley this afternoon, to announce your engagement, and I’ll burst in on you, steal the ring, and you can tell Marian that the wedding’s off.”

“And how exactly is that going to work?” Guy asks, wondering if he is about to fall for another one of Robin Hood’s tricks, and that this whole dance lesson with added benefits thing has simply been Robin playing Guy for a fool. 

“Tell her,” Robin says, “that the ring belonged to your sainted mother and that the wedding will be jinxed if your bride-to-be does not wear it.”

“It did belong to my mother,” Guy says, sullenly.  He shakes his head at Robin.  “Marian will never fall for that.”

“She believed you were ill for weeks on end when you went to the kill the king in the Holy Land.”

“True,” Guy nods, conceding that Robin has a point.

“That’s settled then,” Robin says, throwing the coil of rope back out the window.  “I’ll see you later, at Locksley.”

“Wait,” Guy protests.  “Aren’t we going to have our...you know... ‘dance lesson’?”  He gesticulates towards the bed.   

“Nope.”  Robin climbs onto the window ledge.  “I’m afraid you’ll just have to dance round your handbag this morning.”

“I do not have a ha—”

Grinning, Robin drops over the ledge. 

A short while later, as he watches his milky splash hit the pristine rug, Guy of Gisborne decides that a handbag could have come in useful, especially when he hears the obnoxious sheriff bellowing orders at some hapless guards, obviously intent on bursting in on Guy and demanding why his ever-faithful master-at-arms has still not caught ‘Robin-bloody-Hood’. 

~

“Your parties are much more fun than mine,” Vaisey says, leaning into Marian’s left ear.

Marian does not reply, concerned only with stopping Gisborne going after Robin.  Guy, however, has other plans, and those plans involve a sexy outlaw and a great big forest to hide in. 

“I must get your ring back, Marian,” Guy patiently explains, swinging into his saddle.  “I told you, the wedding cannot take place without it.” 

Wrenching his arm from Marian’s firm grip, Guy gallops off in pursuit of Robin and, he hopes, a bit of afternoon delight.

He is pleased, therefore, when he finds Robin alone, standing atop a leaf-strewn hill, that insufferable gang of his nowhere in sight.

Robin waits until Guy has dismounted, then holds up the engagement ring.  “Oops, dropped it.” He grins and hurls it into the trees. 

Guy smiles, a familiar anticipatory heat flooding his groin as he approaches the grinning outlaw.

“Shame,” Guy says.  “I was looking forward to my wedding night.  Guess you’ll just have to compensate me, Hood.”  He unbuckles his belt.  “Just you, me and a whole lot of leaves,” he remarks, grabbing hold of Robin and pulling him in for a kiss. 

“Yep,” Robin replies, breaking free of Guy and glancing over Guy’s shoulder at the long drop to the bottom of the hill.  “Enough to break the worst of falls.”

With that, Robin pulls back an arm and punches Guy squarely in the jaw. 

Guy stumbles backwards, but somehow manages to keep his feet. 

“Fuck!  What was that for?”

“That,” says Robin, striding towards Guy and grabbing a fistful of leather, “is for nearly marrying my sweetheart.  And this,” he continues, giving Guy another whack that sends him tumbling down the hill, “is for punching me the other night.”

Slipping and sliding down the leafy hill, Robin flings himself on top of a stunned Guy.  “And this,” he says, grappling with Guy’s leather trousers, “is because I feel like it.”

~

“Fuck.  Marian.”

“I’d sooner fuck you,” Robin says, spitting leaves.

“No.  Fuck.  Stop.  Marian.  Stop,” Guy explains, rolling the naked outlaw off him and inclining his head towards the hilltop.

“Oh.”  Robin flicks his eyes at the lone figure on the hill and then at the naked man lying next to him, aware that the leaves they’d had so much fun rolling around in seem to be clinging to almost every part of his anatomy except the part he’d like to cover the most.

“What on earth,” Marian cries, picking her way down the treacherous slope, “do you think you are playing at?”

“Er...”  Robin slaps his hands over his private parts.  “Would you believe, strip poker?”

“Here.”  Guy slaps a twiggy branch into Robin’s rapidly shrinking arousal.

“Ow,” Robin exclaims.  “That hurt.”

“Good,” Guy mumbles, hiding behind his own, much bigger branch. 

“How dare you,” Marian shrieks, standing in front of the two men, hands on hips. “You promised me, Robin.  You promised me that the next time you indulged in one of your so-called ‘men’s games’ that I’d be included.”

Guy raises his eyebrows at Robin in inquiry.   Robins shrugs his shoulders. 

“Er...I’m not sure you’d want to join in with this particular game, Marian.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s a bit rough for starters, you could get hurt, and—”

“Rubbish!  Since when has a game of cards been considered dangerous?”

Robin and Guy share puzzled looks. 

“And you,” Marian says, rounding on Guy.  “Why are you here when you should be getting ready?”

“Ready?”

“For the ball.”

“The ball?”

“The Nottingham Ball.  It begins in less than an hour and you are my dance partner.” 

“But your ring,” Guy says.

“Who cares about a silly ring,” Marian huffs.  “I don’t want to marry you anyway.  I’m more interested in the chest of gold that Prince John is offering to the winners of the dance contest.  Now get back to the castle and get ready, or I swear to God I’ll tell everyone about your silly little games with Robin and your even sillier little...”  Marian points at Guy’s branch. 

“All right,” he grumbles.  “I get the picture.”

“And you,” she says, pointing at Robin.  “Go...go play with your arrow, or something.”

“I fully intend to,” Robin says with a grin.

~

“Remind me again.  What exactly are we doing here?”

Awkwardly, Robin turns to face Allan, his back and neck stiff from crouching behind the barrels of ale for so long.

“Like I told the others, we’re here to get that chest of gold.” 

“Yeah, I get that bit.  What I don’t get is how we’re going to get it.  In case you hadn’t noticed, that chest is surrounded by guards, not only the sheriff’s incompetent fools but also Prince John’s elite men-at-arms.  We won’t get within ten feet of it before we’re cut down.  Even your bow skills are no match for that lot.”

“We’re not going to steal it.”

“What are we going to do then?”

“We’re going to win it.  Or rather Marian is.”

“How?”

“By dancing.”

“Dancing?” 

“Allan,” Robin says patiently.  “Prince John is holding a dance contest here, tonight.  The winner of the contest gets the chest of gold.”

“So, how does that work then?” Allan asks.

“Dance partners take to the floor and one by one they are eliminated, until there is only one couple left.  The pair that is declared the winner gets the prize.”

“The gold?”

“Exactly.”

“And you think Marian’s going to win this thing?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s her partner then?”

“Guy...er...I mean Gisborne.”

“Since when did Gisborne become Mr Twinkletoes?”

“I have it on good authority that Gisborne has been practising – day and night.”

“Not being funny, Robin, but have you seen them?”

“What?”

Robin peeks over the top of the barrels.  Guy and Marian are in the centre of the Great Hall.  Marian is wearing a stunning red gown and Guy, although still dressed in his habitual black leather, has obviously gone to extraordinary lengths to tame his long mane of dark brown hair.  Robin quickly quashes his fantasy about running his hands through it and instead checks out the opposition.  Mostly older nobles and their respective wives; a couple of girls and their beaus who look suspiciously like kitchen wenches and off-duty guards; certainly no-one who looks likely to beat Marian and Guy.

Except that Allan is right.  Robin’s former betrothed, Marian, and the new apple of his eye, Guy, are making a complete pig’s ear of their dance.  In the few actual dance lessons that Robin gave Guy – before they decided that getting naked and playing with each other’s naughty bits was a lot more exciting – Robin had never thought to let Guy take the lead. 

Robin notices Marian giving Guy a swift kick in the shins and the resulting thunderous look on Guy’s face. 

“You’re right,” Robin says, ducking down behind the barrels.  “Marian hasn’t got a hope in hell of winning this contest with Gisborne as her partner.” 

Already, Prince John is making his way through the throngs of dancers, tapping the shoulders of each couple that fails to impress him with their dance prowess. Robin knows it is only a matter of time before he does the same to Guy and Marian.  He smiles, almost tempted to let it happen, quite fancies seeing if Guy will be able to restrain himself, or whether he will forget who he is dealing with and punch Prince John squarely on the nose. 

He swiftly changes his mind.  He wants that gold.

“Where are you going?” Allan asks, as Robin straightens up.

“I’m going to cut in.  It’s the only way Marian has a chance of winning this thing.”

Allan grins.  “Now you’re talking.  You’ll make a much better job of it than old leather legs, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not cutting in on Gisborne,” Robin explains.  “I’m cutting in on Marian.”

“You what?”

“Listen, Allan.”  Robin unsheathes his sword and hands Allan his bow and quiver.  “No matter what happens next, you do nothing unless I give the pre-arranged signal.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, but surely...dancing with Gisborne.  That’s just...”

“What?”

“Weird.”

“Just tell the others what I told you.”

“All right.  But I’m telling you Robin, there’s no way Gisborne is going to go for it.”

“I’ll _persuade_ him.”  Robin flashes the blade he keeps tucked into the back of his trousers.

Ignoring Allan’s mumbled ‘it’s your funeral’, Robin squares his shoulders and weaves through the remaining dancers, making for Guy and Marian. 

“May I?” Robin asks, tapping Marian on the shoulder. 

“Get lost,” Marian hisses, through a determinedly fixed smile, “can’t you see we’re dancing.”

“That’s not what I would call it,” Robin says, tugging Marian’s arm.  “Now if wouldn’t mind.”

As Guy, yet again, steps on her toe, Marian decides that Robin is probably the better option, despite her reticence to get up close and personal with a man who spends most of his days prancing about the forest and thinks that personal hygiene is a quick wipe with a fistful of leaves. 

She wriggles out of Guy’s arms. 

“Thank you,” Robin says, bowing slightly.

“Here and here,” Robin reminds Guy.  He takes hold of Guy’s right hand with his left, slides his own right hand behind Guy’s back, positioning it at the lower edge of Guy’s ribcage. 

“Left hand on my shoulder,” Robin instructs.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” Marian demands.

“Yes,” Guy grinds out, “just what do you think you are doing, _Hood_?”

“I...we, are going to win that gold,” Robin says, inclining his head towards the raised seating and the ornate wooden chest.  “And if that means making a spectacle of myself—”

“Ourselves,” Guy cuts in.

“Then so be it,” Robin finishes, elbowing Marian out of the way.

With that, he forcefully twirls Guy around and leads him in a tango basic, muttering “slow, slow, quick, quick, slow” under his breath.

“I’ll have you for this,” Guy threatens, nose to nose with Robin.

“Turn your head,” Robin says, “and remember to keep a straight face.”  

“The first rule of dancing, you said,” Guy says, through gritted teeth, “is to always wear a smile.  Now, you’re telling me not to.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t smile, just not during this dance. But you can give Prince John a flash of those pearly whites when we finish.  That should ramp up our chances of winning.  You have got a great set of teeth on you, after all.”

“These teeth will set upon you in a minute,” Guy growls.

“Can’t wait,” Robin replies, winking at Guy, and then quickly adopting the masterful expression the male lead is supposed to assume in this particular style of dance. 

“Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow,” Robin repeats, oblivious to the gasps resounding around the Great Hall and Vaisey’s enraged spluttering from on high. 

“My favourite rhythm,” Guy whispers into Robin’s ear, deciding to ignore everyone around him and concentrate instead on the way Robin is pressing into his crotch.

“Later,” Robin mumbles, leading Guy into an assured promenade that sends several dancers scattering. 

Robin glances in Prince John’s direction, the latter having returned to the podium intent on placating the red-faced Sheriff of Nottingham. 

“How are we doing?” Guy asks, stumbling slightly when Robin decides a bit of leg wrapping might be in order. 

“I think the Prince is enjoying himself,” he says. 

“And you?” Guy asks.

“Absolutely.” Robin slips the hand that is behind Guy’s back into the top of Guy’s leather trousers.

“Don’t,” Guy warns.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that.”

“I have to say,” Robin says, licking his lips and ignoring Guy’s feeble protest, “that you are looking particularly handsome tonight.” 

Guy is about to make some caustic remark, but changes his mind when Robin suddenly breaks hold and shoves a hand between Guy’s legs. 

“We’ll be penalised,” Guy hisses.

“What for?”

“Breaking the rules.”

“I like breaking the rules,” Robin whispers hotly into Guy’s ear.  “Now, watch yourself because I’m going into a dip.”

Guy quickly realises that Robin is not referring to the trestle table laden with various offerings from the castle kitchen and readies himself.

It is only as Robin bends over his eagerly compliant partner that he thinks perhaps the kiss on the lips is a step too far. 

However, on straightening up, his sees that at least half the hall’s occupants are laughing, thinking perhaps that Robin Hood has managed, yet again, to humiliate the dastardly Guy of Gisborne.

“Robin,” Guy growls.

“Yes, my lover,” Robin replies, the epitome of innocence, leading Guy once more into a basic tango eight, chanting “slow, slow, quick, quick, slow” all the while. 

“Bravo!  Bravo!”

Robin turns his head in time to see a beaming Prince John clapping enthusiastically, and, whisking Guy around, he sees that they are the only remaining couple on the dance floor. 

“Catch,” Prince John shouts.

Robin stares in amazement as a red rose flies through the air and lands not two feet from where he and Guy are standing. 

“Don’t you dare,” Guy threatens, “move away from me.”  He grabs Robin’s right hand and plants it on his crotch, his bulging leathers leaving Robin in no doubt what his muttered quicks and slows have done to Guy. 

Gracefully manoeuvring his panic-stricken dance partner towards the fallen rose, Robin slides his face down Guy’s shirtfront, pausing at the top of Guy’s inner thighs as he does so.  Reaching out, he plucks the rose from the floor, sticks it between his teeth and, with a flourish, bends Guy into a final dip. 

“We have a winner,” Prince John declares, coming to his feet.  “Step forward to receive your prize, gentlemen.”

“You dare move away from me,” Guy hisses, “and I’ll slit you from ear to ear.”

“Sounds promising,” Robin remarks.  However, he does have some sympathy for his lover’s situation, he himself being more than a little aroused.  And Guy has just helped him win that beautiful chest of gold. 

Robin steps towards the raised seating, Guy all but clinging to his back.

Prince John waves a gloved hand towards the two men.  “You must be the pesky Robin Hood that the good sheriff here has been trying, but _failing_ , to capture all these long months?”

“I must be.”

“And you,” the Prince continues, pointing, “must be Sir Guy of Gisborne, one of my most loyal supporters?”

“Er...yes, Sire.”

“Well, step forward man, so I may present you.” 

“I’d...er...rather not.  Dodgy leg.” 

“Ah, the perils of being an artiste.”  The Prince smiles.  “Anyway, the money is yours.  Where would you like it taken?”

“As winner of the prize,” Guy says, “I believe it is my right to do with my win as I wish.”

“That is correct.”

“Then I wish to give it all to the Lady Marian, my future wi—”

Robin flicks back his boot and kicks Guy soundly on the shin.

“Your future what?” the Prince enquires.  “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“My future willing dance partner,” Guy says, bending down awkwardly and rubbing his shin.

~

“You took your time,” Guy grumbles.

Throwing the rope through the open window, Robin drops to the floor.

“Sorry.  I had a bit of trouble escaping Prince’s John’s men, and after that I had a bit of explaining to do to the gang.”

“You didn’t tell them about us, about _this_ , did you?” Guy asks, waving a hand at the bed.

“No.  I told them that I’d threatened to strip you of your assets, money-wise at least, and that that was enough to get you to dance with me at the contest.”

“I have never been so humiliated in my life.  Don’t you ever do that again.  Anyway, how was Marian?  Has she forgiven us?  Did she give you the money?”

“There is no money.”

“What do you mean, no money?”

“I mean Marian never gave it to me.”

“Why not?”

“When I got to Knighton, Edward told me she had gone.”

“Gone where?”

“To London.”

“Why?”

“To enrol in some fancy ballet school, or something.”

“So there’s no money?”

“Nope, not a penny.”

“Fuck!”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“No, I mean damn.”

“Never mind,” Robin says. “We still have each other, the night is young and your bed looks inviting.”

Guy smiles.  Robin is right.  They still have this. 

Bit by bit, Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne shed their clothes. 

“Are you dancing?” Robin asks, curling his fingers around Guy’s erect cock.

“Are you asking?”

“I’m asking.”

Guy grins. “Then I’m dancing.”

The two men slide down onto the bed.

“Nice sheets, by the way,” Robin remarks, running his hands over the crisp, cream-coloured bed sheets. 

“Thank you,” Guy says with a happy smile.  “I thought they’d be good for...”

“For what?”

“Eating cream puffs on.”

Robin laughs. 

Guy laughs. 

And the dance goes on. 

 

**The end**


End file.
